12 MAY 1923, Page 15



WHEN green as a river was the barley,

Green as a river the rye, I waded deep and began to parley With a youth whom I heard sigh.

" I seek," said he, " a lovely lady, A nymph as bright as a queen, Like a tree that drips with pearls her shady Locks of hair were seen.

And all the rivers became her flocks

Though their wool you cannot shear,— Because of the love of her flowing locks 6 t

The kingly Sun like a swain Came strong, unheeding of her scorn,

Bathing in deeps where she has lain,

Sleeping upon her river lawn And chasing her starry satyr train.

She fled, and changed into a tree—

That lovely fair-haired lady . .

And now I seek through the sere summer Where no trees are shady."